


I Write Sins Not Tragedies

by hollowbirds (torturousthings)



Series: Written About You [9]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Ryden, i write sins not tragedies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torturousthings/pseuds/hollowbirds
Summary: Ryan isn't particularly a fan of weddings, but whispers in the row in front of him just told him that the dark haired best man is not quite as innocent as he seems...





	

Ryan was by now convinced that tuxedos were made by the Devil. 

 

The suit was slightly too big for him, and the pants didn’t allow him to move his foot forward more than fifteen inches. Good thing he was supposed to sit for most of the time, though. The guests were all sitting down, waiting for the bride to arrive; he was only an acquaintance of the groom’s, but it seemed like they didn’t know enough people to fill up a whole church. Ryan didn’t mind being here as long as he didn’t have to socialise too much, and he had been left alone since he arrived. He probably didn’t seem to eager to start conversations, and when the man next to him had flashed him a kind smile, he just turned his head away. Hadn’t looked back since. 

 

“Do you know how many people here the bride fucked?” A female voice said from behind him, and Ryan resisted the sudden urge to turn around and yell at the person who had spoken. This was no place to disrespect the reason they were all here, and honestly, Ryan didn’t want to know about the bride’s sexual conquests. 

 

“No, but I know she definitely did the best man,” another voice answered, followed by giggles. “Who wouldn’t, though, look at him!” Ryan silently cursed his own curiosity as he leaned forward in a way that he hoped was inconspicuous to get a better look at the man standing next to the groom, near the altar. He was in a black suit and seemed comfortable, even though Ryan couldn’t see his face from the angle he had chosen, the hat of the woman in front of him blocking most of the view. 

 

Suddenly, music rang out in the church. It was the traditional, worn-out wedding march, but the guests still showed excited and surprised faces as they stood up from the chairs, causing a racket that nearly muted the instruments. Ryan stood up as well, and realised how unusually short the woman sporting the hat was. Over her head, he finally got a glimpse of the best man, who had dark brown hair and was looking in the same direction everybody else was: the entrance of the church, where, Ryan saw after finally turning his head, the bride had appeared. She was pretty and blonde, radiating joy in her white dress, but Ryan’s mind was somewhere else, and he turned to glance at the best man once more. His heart missed a beat as he saw the man’s dark gaze on him, and Ryan swore there had been a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he turned his attention back to the bride, who was finally reaching the altar. 

 

Vows. Rings. Kiss. All of the cheesy stuff that Ryan hoped he’d never experience. It’s not that he hated weddings, just didn’t see the point of them. If you loved someone, there was no need to show it to the world. 

 

The reception was nice, people dancing and laughing and drinking, but Ryan really had no wish to mingle. He was on his fourth —fifth?— glass of champagne when he saw the dark haired man from earlier walking towards him. As he got closer, Ryan noticed that his bow tie had been replaced by a simple tie, and wondered whether best men also changed clothes after the official ceremony, or if it was just him. 

 

“Nah, it’s just me,” the man said as Ryan realised with horror he had thought aloud. He stood up from his chair as fast as he could, setting his champagne glass down. 

 

“I— uhh, I,” he mumbled, feeling the heat on his cheeks. “Hi.” The man smirked, and picked up the glass of champagne from the table, taking a sip from it. 

 

“Hello.” That definitely didn’t help the burning cheeks situation. The man tilted his head and looked into Ryan’s eyes.

 

“Are you drunk?” 

 

Ryan was offended by that question. He probably didn’t look completely sober, but five glasses weren’t enough to get him drunk. 

 

“No,” he answered, studying the other man’s face. He had full lips and a single strand of hair falling in front of his eyes. Ryan couldn’t remember whether it’d been like that in the church already, and reached out to take the glass from him. 

 

“Alright then,” he said, moving the glass away before Ryan could grab it; but before he could finish his sentence, Ryan lost his balance and stumbled forward, crashing into the man and spilling champagne all over them both. Ryan shivered as the cold liquid made contact with his skin, and realised he had grabbed the other man’s shirt in his effort not to fall. He chuckled, looking down at Ryan, his breath a mix of mint and alcohol, lips dangerously close and soft looking. Ryan licked his own. 

 

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” He teased, one hand settling on Ryan’s shoulder to help him stand back up, the touch burning through the fabric of Ryan’s shirt and straight to his skin. Ryan nodded and chuckled embarrassingly, running a hand through his hair. 

 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he muttered, looking back at the man. His white shirt was soaked and slightly transparent, sticking to his skin. 

 

 

“I’m Brendon,” he said matter-of-factly, his hand still on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan tore his gaze from the lower part of the soaked shirt and focused on Brendon’s face.

 

“Ryan,” he replied, and Brendon smiled. 

 

“You want another glass of champagne?” 


End file.
